Whom Thou Namest Friend, Part 1
by Elrond's Scribe
Summary: AU. Rated T because I don't know quite where this will take me and I'm rather paranoid. You MUST read my previous story Omega before you read this one. To understand my headcanon, go to my profile. Constructive criticism highly desired. "He whom I have named friend has known me in all my sorrows."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All recognizable names, faces, dates, places, etc. are not mine**.

**And once again, you HAVE to read my story Omega first. Otherwise, this will not make any sense at all. Now go read it. Shoo! Still reading? Then I know you've done as I asked.**

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Chapter 1

"Wow! And that's the story?" asked a chocolate-skinned boy of about fifteen.

"That is the story, as I live," answered the storyteller, smiling.

"And _you_ were there, weren't you, Pengolodh?" said the boy's younger sister, wrapping her arms round her knees and staring up at the Elf with wide brown eyes. "I bet you saw Adam and Eve get created!"

Pengolodh laughed. "No, Deborah, I did not. That first moment was all that we were permitted to see of your history."

The older brother frowned, puzzled. "Then how did you all get here? I mean here in our Earth or whatever you people call it. I thought the Valar didn't want you leaving Aman."

"We call it Ennor still, Elijah," said Pengolodh. "And as for the permission of the Valar to leave their lands, remember that the light of the Two Trees was restored and all the Children of Iluvatar were gathered together. Yet surely you did not think that every last one of them would be content, even then, to dwell within the confines of Aman forever!"

"Then how'd you get their permission to go?"

"I was coming to that. We who wished to leave Aman went before the Valar to ask their consent-"

"You _went before the Valar _to ask them if it was okay to leave their domain?!" cried Deborah.

"Yes. Why should we do otherwise?"

Deborah was silent, and Elijah commented, "Well, obviously they said yes, 'cause I sure don't see any doom or curse hanging over you."

"And how would you know if I was doomed or cursed, eh?" inquired the scribe.

"Just didn't think you all would want to repeat all that from before. What, am I wrong?"

Pengolodh laughed again. "No, Elijah. You are right. Now as I was telling you, before you both so discourteously interrupted me, we were given leave to depart and even to return, if such was our desire."

"And so you came," grinned Elijah. "You and a bunch of other people."

"And I, for one, am glad you did," added Deborah. "Have you ever been back?"

"Not yet," said Pengolodh. "Why, I have only been here for ninety-seven winters!"

"Listen to the Elf," grumbled Elijah. He mimicked Pengolodh. "'I have only been here for ninety-seven winters.' That's probably longer than I'm gonna be ALIVE."

"Guess a thousand years is as a day to _him_," said his sister cheerfully.

Pengolodh nodded toward the doorway of the library, and his two listeners spun around. "Mom!" said Deborah jumping up. "Pengolodh was just telling us the story!"

"Was he now?" said the matronly woman in the doorway. "Well, you all were in here a long time. I went ahead and made dinner-"

"You didn't have to do that, Mom!" protested Deborah. "I could have done that while we were talking!"

"Right," said Elijah. "Because you're just so good at multitasking."

"You really can't seem to do more than one thing at one time, dear," said the mother, and Deborah said nothing, for this was unfortunately quite true. "Dinner is ready," added her mother. "And your father is ready to eat. Come on and let's eat. You too, Pengolodh."

Pengolodh followed the threesome into the kitchen for the meal.

* * *

"You busy right now?" asked Deborah of Elijah the next day.

"No. I'm done with school for today. Why?"

"There's someone Pengolodh wants us to meet."

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**How did you like it? Should I continue?**

**And for the 411, this is not idealized. My sister and I really do cook the majority of the meals at home. And when you are homeschooled you really do not have to be all day about schoolwork. If you are it's your fault. I don't have a brother, so please forgive me if the interaction between Deborah and Elijah is not realistic. And once again, I didn't take the trouble to find out how to do the special things with the letters.**

**The idea of the Valar permitting their charges (as it were) to leave at their own will is borrowed from a fanfic called "Seeds of Old Trees" by Marnie. Go check it out!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable. For more information, see my profile.**

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Chapter 2

"So, who dis we meetin'?" asked Deborah pulling on her sandals in the living room.

Pengolodh let that pass. "You will see when you meet them."

"And Mom and Dad are okay with this?"

The Elf turned and regarded her. "Do you honestly believe that I would take you or your brother anywhere for any purpose without their knowledge and consent?"

"Oh. Right."

Elijah came into the room. "You ready to go, Deborah?"

"Now I am!" And Deborah stood up to go.

Pengolodh led the two children at a brisk walk up the street. The weather was fine, and the sun was shining brightly, with only a few big fleecy white clouds drifting lazily across the sky. The street was busy, and and the threesome found themselves sharing the sidewalk with any number of pedestrians and bicycles.

A small black poodle stopped to sniff and bark at Deborah's ankles, and she laughed indulgently. "We really should get a dog," she remarked.

"Maybe," said Elijah. "but it better not be a little teacup dog."

"Why not?" asked his sister. "They're _so_ cute!"

"Yeah, maybe," grunted Elijah.

Pengolodh glanced at the two of them, and was reminded of when he had first met them not so long ago. . .

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Ten years earlier:

Pengolodh hummed softly to himself as he walked down toward the house that he kept. For a number of years now his relations with the Mortal Men had been friendly but distant, and there was nothing to indicate that that would soon change. He sometimes wondered if he would ever make of one of them a friend like AElfwine had been. He did not think so. The Americans (at least now) did not seem so very interested in such tales as he would have had to tell them. If some of them were, he had yet to meet them.

He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of children's voices. He looked round to see about a score of them playing a lively game of Tag on the spacious front lawn in front of a very large house. The Elf watched with amusement as they bumbled and tumbled around, shrieking with laughter and of course the occasional "Tag! You're It!"

But about five minutes after Pengolodh had stopped to look, one of the youngest of the girls (she could not have been more than two years old) seemed distracted by something, probably a butterfly. She began to chase it, seeming to have forgotten about the game going on around her. Intent on her quarry, she paid no heed to where she was going. She ran straight out onto the sidewalk, passing Pengolodh as she did so, and from there directly into the busy street.

Pengolodh gasped in horror and sprang after her without a second thought. Car drivers veered to avoid him and blew their horns, sometimes accompanying this with a raised fist or obscene gesture. But Pengolodh was as intent on the little girl as she was on her butterfly, and barely looked to right or left. He knew vaguely that he might be killed at any instant, but he was not thinking about that. His one idea was to get to the little girl, pick her up, and carry her to safety.

About the middle of the street he caught her and swept her up. She cried out in protest and and kicked him, but he held her securely and turned to cross the street again. At that moment a blue convertible careened wildly towards him, and it seemed certain death was upon him, but it missed him by inches as the driver violently swung the wheel.

The child screamed and clung to the Elf's dark braid, burying her face in his chest. Pengolodh, still reeling a little from his close brush with death, darted across the road and reached the other side in safety.

A woman had come running out of the house. Her eyes were wide with terror. "My baby!" she wailed, taking her weeping little daughter into her arms.

"She is all right," said Pengolodh soothingly. "She is unhurt." He paused. "What is her name?" he asked, and wondered at himself.

"Her name is Deborah," said her mother, and she sighed. "Thank you so, so much for saving her. She's not my only one, but she's mine." She paused. "You could have been killed doing that!"

Pengolodh refrained from saying he almost had been."I did not think."

"Well, you saved my baby."

Pengolodh shifted uneasily. "Well," he said abruptly. "I am afraid I must be going."

"Come by sometime," said the woman. "Share a meal with us."

* * *

"What you thinkin' 'bout?" asked Elijah, jerking Pengolodh out of the memory.

This time he could not resist. "Was that English, Elijah? It may not be my mother tongue, but it is yours."

Deborah giggled, and Elijah rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "What were you pondering?"

"The day I met your family. Or rather your mother and sister. You, as I recall, were having one of your teeth removed."

Elijah grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"You were five!" said Deborah.

"Yeah, and you were two," said Elijah. "I don't follow."

"I think she means," interposed the loremaster. "that you were young enough for the horror of the ordeal to have been somewhat dimmed in your memory."

"That's because she never had to have any of _her_ teeth pulled."

"Lucky me!" smiled Deborah. "Are we there yet?"

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**If you all like this, you had better thank CrackinAndProudOfIt on your knees because it was for her sake alone that this story did not get taken down three days after it was first posted. It would be nice if you reviewed too, of course, but please do something nice for Crackers. Read her stuff and review it and tell her I sent you.**

**And I'm telling you right now, I have no idea whatever when the next update will be.**

**For those of you who don't know, AElfwine was a Man (an Anglo-Saxon) who according to the Book of Lost Tales visited and made friends of the Elves (at least in Tol Eressea). I'm not sure of details, but I do know that Pengolodh told him all the history that comprises The Silmarillion.**

**I will get to the tragedy and all, I promise!**

**And if this is too cliched for you, I apologize.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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Chapter 3:

At last Pengolodh halted in front of a solid, red brick house which somehow managed to look stylish and classy. Elijah almost imagined a maid answering the door, and Deborah wondered, "Who lives here?"

Pengolodh knocked at the door, and it was answered by a tall young man with a heavy mane of golden brown hair. "Hullo, come in!" he said with a crisp English accent.

Pengolodh looked startled. "Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized hastily. "I think I've come to the wrong house - "

"Don't worry," said the young man. "If you're Philip Harver and you've come for Daryl Willow, he's in, but he's somewhat busy at the moment. He sent me to say that he'll see you directly."

"Thank you," said Pengolodh stepping inside. Elijah and Deborah followed.

The room into which they stepped was as stylish and elegant as the outside of the house had suggested. Pengolodh seemed unfazed by this and proceeded to take a seat on the gleaming brown leather sofa. After casting a questioning look at her brother, Deborah followed suit. Elijah remained standing.

They were not made to wait long. Before Deborah had time to ask again whom they were visiting, the door opened and someone entered the room.

Elijah and Deborah had considered themselves "used to Elves" because of their familiarity with Pengolodh. They had unconsciously assumed that their years of knowing him would accustom them to Elven-folk in general. What a surprise they had!

The Elf (for the figure standing before them could not be mistaken for anything else) was slightly taller than Pengolodh, though also very slender. His midnight-dark hair hung in a single thick plait down his back ("Doggone it, they've _all_ got good hair!" thought Deborah) and the largest grey eyes imaginable surveyed Elijah and Deborah with curiosity. A flute was clutched in his slim, graceful white hands.

The finishing touch was the long flowing blue robe, simple and unadorned but vibrant in hue. Pengolodh had chosen to adopt the modern American style of dress; this Elf apparently had not.

Pengolodh rose to his feet. "Master Daeron," he said with a bow. Deborah and Elijah exchanged a glance. This was more than worth the outing, for there could only be one Daeron to whom Pengolodh himself would show such respect.

Daeron swept across the room and took him by the arms, talking rapidly in what Elijah guessed was probably Doriathrin. He had seldom felt more exiled from a conversation. He glanced at his sister and saw that she was probably feeling the same.

Pengolodh answered in the same language, and the two went back and forth for a few minutes. Then Pengolodh turned to the children. "This is the friend I spoke of," he said in English. "Daeron, maker of the Cirith and the greatest minstrel born to Arda."

Daeron flushed crimson, partly in embarrassment and partly because of the raptrous gazes with which the two mortals were regarding him. "You are a shameless flatterer," he said.

Pengolodh snorted. "Indeed," he said. "Celeborn is quite right; you underrate yourself. My good friends here will undoubtedly say the same."

"Maybe," said Elijah stepping forward. "I'm Elijah Hollowell, and this is my sister Deborah."

"Hello," said Deborah shyly.

"Elijah and Deborah," repeated Daeron. "These names are strange to me; pray what do they mean?" He pronounced Deborah's name in three syllables.

Elijah looked Deborah.

"Well," said she. "Elijah got a really great name. His name means 'my God is Yahweh.' My name just means Bee." She pouted, then brightened. "But I like the way you say it."

Daeron flushed again.

Elijah indicated the flute in Daeron's hands. "Were you, ah, in the middle of something?" he asked.

"Nothing of importance," said Daeron hastily.

"By the way," said Pengolodh. "who was that fellow who greeted us at the door?"

"He is - a friend of mine," Daeron's delicate fingers were suddenly twirling the flute.

Pengolodh raised an eyebrow, and Daeron lowered his eyes and shifted slightly. ("Poor thing!' thought Deborah. "He couldn't keep a secret to save his life! I wonder if he really meant to tell Thingol about the whole Beren deal.")

"Very well, my friend, keep your secrets," said Pengolodh. "Does he know that you are an Elda?"

Daeron hesitated. "Well. . . "

"Then he knows," said Pengolodh.

"He is a student of mine," said Daeron, almost defensively.

"I do not accuse you of foolishness, and neither do I question your judgment," said Pengolodh. "I was merely inquisitive."

"Then you teach?" asked Elijah with some excitement.

"Not ordinarily," said Daeron.

Elijah and Deborah shot each other disappointed glances. They would very much have liked to learn things from Daeron. He probably knew all manner of things that even Pengolodh didn't. After all, not everyone can boast of having invented an alphabet!

Pengolodh feigned injury. "What? Is it not enough that I have taught you all you know? Am I no longer good enough for you? This is a poor reward for ten years' labor!"

"Yeah, but I bet you haven't taught us everything _you_ know," Elijah retorted.

"And besides," added Deborah. "you can't possibly know _everything_ there is to know."

"Hardly respectful, that!" said Pengolodh reprovingly. But Elijah just grinned at him and Deborah giggled.

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**Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait. I really am trying to update quickly, but like most other authors, I am a busy girl.**

**I love Daeron. I really do. He is one of the few characters I have ever read about whose story makes me cry.**

**Three guesses as to who Daeron's 'mysterious' friend is! To me the author, it's pretty obvious, but I want to see how well you all do at guessing it.**

**Thanks to my reviewers (koryandys or whatever your name is this week, SusieofAnna, and especially Crackers). You people are the reason this story still exists. I honestly would have taken it down three times over if not for you three.**


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